


Snuffles

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Master/Pet, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pet Play, Puppy Play, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 06:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14490930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prompto’s a good boy under any circumstances.





	Snuffles

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “I just want to see Ignis being a good master and taking care of his sick pet. Don't really care what Any has, just as long as they're really sick. You can make it as fluffy as you'd like. ++Ingis lets Any break a bunch of the rules like not getting on furniture, etc.” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4747.html?thread=9881227#cmt9881227).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There’s nothing quite like the smell of well-cooked fruit, and Ignis knows just what spices to add into the pot. After a moment’s thought, he stirs in a pinch of brown sugar—his partner has, after all, been quite well behaved as of late, and that merits a reward. It’s also quite pleasing to be able to make such a healthy treat, sugar or no, and know that it will not only be eaten, but appreciated. If only he could get his prince to enjoy the rich delights of fresh fruits and vegetables.

When the door of his apartment opens, Ignis doesn’t bother turning around. He knows exactly who it is, and that person doesn’t require his immediate assistance. Sure enough, he hears shoes kicking off and the slow shuffle of shedding fabric, and then the soft thunk of bare footsteps across his cold wood floors. 

He turns in time to see Prompto slink down to his knees. The movement is a tad more awkward than usual, but Prompto has always been more youthful enthusiasm than practiced grace. He still looks plenty appealing as he crawls to Ignis on all fours, not a single scrap of clothing left about his body. His peach skin practically glows in the rich overhead lighting, his subtle freckles a lovely addition. Ignis pauses his stirring long enough to enjoy the striking view, but as his gaze shifts from the round curves of Prompto’s ass to the unkempt spikes of his yellow hair, Ignis frowns.

Prompto’s usually styled better than that. He usually has his hair perfectly coiffed, his cheeks prettily pink, and a thin wristband still rebelliously clinging to his wrist. He hasn’t bothered today, and that lack of accessories, more than anything else, tips Ignis off. 

Prompto comes right to Ignis’ legs and rubs against them like a cat dying for attention. Prompto’s head flattens into the back of Ignis’ knees, his blue eyes falling closed as he tilts his head into the crisp fabric of Ignis’ tailored suit. Ignis turns the heat off the stove and sets the wooden spoon aside.

His attention zeros in on Prompto. Normally, he’d be continuing right on, pausing only to fetch Prompto’s collar when the moment best allowed it. Tonight, Ignis isn’t even sure they’ll get that far. He bends down to hook his fingers beneath Prompto’s chin, and he tilts Prompto’s face up for inspection. Prompto looks dully back at him, almost glassy-eyed. Deep circles cut beneath Prompto’s eyes, and his nose seems a puffy red, his lashes heavy more from weariness than interest, his skin, now that Ignis really _looks at it_ , a touch too pallid. There’s a sort of looseness to his body that doesn’t feel right—Prompto’s normally a taut mess of electric energy. Prompto whines when Ignis holds him in place too long, and that makes Ignis instantly let go.

He decides aloud, “We don’t have to play today.”

But that just makes Prompto whine louder and shake his head. He looks like he might throw up from the movement and has to wait a moment after, steadying out again. Then he nuzzles into Ignis’ legs, hard and almost desperate, like he might collapse if Ignis pushes him away. Ignis supposes there must be some comfort in their familiar game, though Ignis would just as soon take care of Prompto on simpler terms under such circumstances. Prompto even nips stubbornly at Ignis’ trousers, so Ignis concedes, “Very well.”

Usually, when he leaves to collect Prompto’s collar, Prompto scrambles eagerly after him. Now Prompto waits in the corner of the kitchenette where Ignis left him, while Ignis retires to his bedroom and gathers the black faux-leather ornament out of his nightstand drawer. Prompto even sits completely still when Ignis returns to fit it around his throat, extra careful to make sure it isn’t tight. There have been times where he’s edged Prompto by making it so tight that it must be borderline uncomfortable, but now he leaves it in the farthest hole. He tests it when he’s done, while Prompto remains eerily quiet. 

It’s a special thing, collaring a pet, and Ignis enjoys it every time, always loves regaining the sight of Prompto with his claim: the physical mark of Prompto’s submission. The pleasure isn’t lessoned with Prompto’s sickness, but it is a different kind of pleasure—a sort of fondness and care, rather than the common lust. When he’s finished, Ignis tenderly strokes through Prompto’s hair and tells him, “Go lie down on the sofa, pet. I’ll have your treat finished shortly.”

Prompto looks up with a flicker of surprise. It’s justified—normally, Ignis doesn’t allow animals on his furniture. Thinking of their other rules, he adds, “Today you have permission to use the sofa and bed, as well as the washroom any time that you need.” Prompto smiles gratefully. Ignis gives him another affectionate pat, and Prompto revels in it before turning towards the living room. Ignis watches him go, only peripherally taking in the swaying of his naked rear. 

The fruit concoction doesn’t need much more. Ignis tries a spoonful and finds that he’s met his goal—it tastes rather like the fillings of a bumbleberry pie, except that the crust-less version is dog-bowl-friendly. He scoops a small portion into the ceramic bowl he’s had custom made for his beloved puppy, and then he brings it into the living room despite the usual rule against eating around the upholstery.

Instead of setting the bowl onto the floor, Ignis takes the far end of the sofa and sets the bowl down in his lap. Prompto, sprawled out along the cushions, perks at the sight and smell of it. He clambers up to all fours again and shuffles over to Ignis, where he takes in a good whiff and smiles shakily, licking his lips before ducking down to try it. He’s had enough experience by now to make up for the lack of cutlery, and Ignis lets him take his time nosing about the bowl. While Prompto eats, Ignis idly pets his hair and back, straying almost more into message territory. Prompto obviously loves it. He keeps pausing to arch into Ignis’ touch. When he lifts up again and smacks his lips, cleaning away anything left of the sticky fruit juice, Ignis helps thumb away the remains. Prompto sighs contentedly and leans into Ignis’ fussing. Then Ignis sets the half-empty bowl over on the coffee table and guides Prompto to lie down in his lap. 

Only because he couldn’t reach without moving, Ignis murmurs, “Fetch the remote.” Prompto complies, stretching to collect it off the coffee table. As Ignis takes it from Prompto’s hand, he purrs, “Good boy.” Prompto shivers just like he always does, eyes closing blissfully against his cheeks. 

He snuggles into Ignis’ lap in a sort of languid, heavy manner. He doesn’t squirm and twist as much as usual, nor does he burrow into Ignis’ thighs and try to stir Ignis into more exciting things. He just lies where he’s told, slumped into the protective coon that Ignis offers. Though Ignis keeps his apartment’s temperature well suited for such interactions, he tugs the decorative blanket folded over the sofa’s back down onto Prompto’s body. He even tucks Prompto in as best he can without disrupting their positions. Prompto looks perfectly snug in it. He gives Ignis a pathetically thankful mewl before letting his head loll towards the television. 

Ignis flicks it on and pets his darling partner until Prompto’s fast asleep, getting all the rest that he needs and deserves.


End file.
